


The 65th Hunger Games: A Twisted Crown

by Shewritesthings



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1891365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewritesthings/pseuds/Shewritesthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finnick's Games were perhaps one of the most memorable in Panem History. This is before he became the boy loved by all, the man who stole the heart of every single woman in the Capitol, and before he met his noble death while fighting for the righteous cause of the Capitol's Fall. This is the story of Finnick: The young fisherman who became a tribute who became a hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The 65th Hunger Games: A Twisted Crown

_ **Chapter I: It's Rigged** _

Finnick's glistening green eyes gazed deeply into the depthless waters below, and then, sensing the slightest movement of a fish's tail, he shoved the graphite-stone tip of the wooden spear into the pit of a sun bellied bass. His shirt had been cast off into the ship's stomach and all that remained was a pair of ripped shorts that allowed him to move freely, without the restriction of a clinging fabric. His strong abdomen and biceps glistened with sweat and sea water, while his bronze locks, slightly stained gold from long days in the sun's rays, were ruffled and matted against his forehead.

He pulled the flapping fish from the spear, throwing the weapon down and snapping the fish's spine easily. He threw it into the bucket and raised his spear once more to catch another fish, but his eyes caught sight of something not far off in the distance. A small flash of silver. He smiled and began to row softly, but quickly, his rows barely touching the water's surface, yet still propelling it forward easily. He found himself just above the coral reef, a small inlet for the tropical fish of the sea. He ran a hand through his hair, looked to the sky, the sun was perched high above him. Like a king that sat over his kingdom, the sun cast its harsh rays across the sea's surface. It was nearly time for him to head home and prepare for the reaping, but he wasn't ready… He didn't think he ever would be.

"Better to swim than starve," he said quietly to himself, before he stepped off the edge of the boat and dove into the ocean. The water reached out to him like some old companion, it moved him like a fish within its gentle currents. Finnick's bright green eyes opened, fighting the slight burning sensation of the salt, as he gazed upon the silver fish that seemed to dance in the warm waters of the reefs. It was a completely different world with the bright and magical colors. The pinks were magnified by ten, seemingly shining like diamonds and the yellows were fluorescent like a mixture of the sun's gold and moon's silver. Fish of all different kinds darted beneath his feet and around his arms. A mother bottlenose dolphin and her two young calves followed in her wake, she turned to Finnick offering a friendly squeak before grabbing a mouthful of fish and darting away. The young boy smiled at the sight of all the life, his heart filling with a slight sadness. He could possibly be leaving all this, his sea friends and the life of the ocean.

He burst to the surface and let air flow back into the lungs. He snapped the spines of the silver fish that were so fat and filled with meat. He threw them into the bucket in his small rowboat, before diving back under and grabbing a few clams which sat on a ledge of pink, porous coral. Finnick pushed off from the ledge and broke through the watery layer of the sea and into the bright world of the living. He preferred the ocean better. He grabbed the side of his boat and slid nimbly back into it, hardly causing the thing to rock. It was natural for Finnick to go leaping off and onto to boats this way, when he wasn't off in the sea by himself, like he was today, he would be on one of the industrial fishing boats that went out into the ocean.

It was those large and hulking boats that he was thrown onto from the time he was barely a year old to now, when he was just beginning to realize the full capability of himself. Finnick had learned to tie knots so artfully he was considered the best out of all the men he fished with, and his swimming skills were unparalleled by all, it was almost as if he was a sea god. His crew, often speaking of him affectionately, had given him the nickname, Fish, simply because since the time he could walk, his father had plunged him into the waves and forced him to teach himself to swim. Of course, whenever Finnick questioned if Galen, his father, would have allowed him to drown, Galen would chuckle and say some things were meant to be kept a secret.

Thinking of this now, Finnick realized just how many times Galen would say that to him. It was actually quite frightening the repetition he would ask his father things, Galen only responding with a monotone and bored voice that the answer he sought, he would probably learn in school. It made him think back to the conversation he had had weeks ago with his father, shortly before his fourteenth birthday.

The conversation had occurred on a day, one of the rare occasions, when Galen would accompany Finnick out into the bay and sit quietly while his son would dive beautifully into the blue waters, snatching fish and sea kelp off of nearby ledges. While they snacked on fresh shellfish the young boy had just caught moments ago, he was telling his father about his rather uneventful day at school.

"I just don't see the point, Dad, why do I have to go to school? I mean it's not like I'm going to use it or anything. He tossed the empty shell of an oyster back into the sea, figuring some animal would find use of it, as he sucked up the succulent and thick meat into his mouth.

Galen simply chuckled, his graying bronze hair being blown slightly in the salty sea breeze. "Then pull out of it, boy, you don't need to be askin' me if you can. It's the witch of your mother who'd have your rear."

He was right about that. Finnick's mother was a very edgy and jumpy woman, and if she found out that her youngest son had dropped out of school, she would have killed him with a fish gutting knife. He'd often seen her chase his older brother, Stark, around the house with the long and sharp monstrosity. It usually made him laugh and call encouragement to his brother, but then, May Odair would turn the knife on him, and chase after both of them.

"All they ever do is talk about the Games, anyway…" Finnick knew he shouldn't have said anything, but he couldn't help it. It was the daily propaganda of his life, on the boats the Games would be talked about while pulling in nets, at training, at school, and even at home, between his parents. He was tired of hearing about them, wishing that he could block out the conversation of all of it. The Hunger Games, the Treaty of Treason, and the Rebellion… They were usually thrown together all in the same sentence, sometime or another. It made him sick to his stomach just hearing about them.

Galen stared at him for a long time, his bright green eyes, much like Finnick's own, seemed to stare into him with a hard gaze. "For a boy who don't like the Games, you sure do got a lot to say about em'." His father was regarding him with a cool gaze that could have frozen fire. It had been his father's dream for his sons to be reaped, one of them to bring home the family's gold. Neither Stark nor Finnick had been reaped, and it wasn't Finnick's intention to be chosen.

"Dad… I… It's just… Doesn't it seem wrong to you…? You know, children dying horrible and twisted deaths?" Galen had always been a diehard believer of the Hunger Games, even if the rest of his family wasn't. Finnick's grandfather had been a Victor of the 4th Games. It was in his bloodline, practically. Galen's father had filled the young man's head with glorious praise of them, stating they were the best thing introduced into Panem, even if the other districts couldn't see it.

"Finnick, it's for the districts' damn self-righteousness we be payin' for the things we done. There ain't nothin' the Capitol has done to hurt any of us, but to try and be reformin' us. It ain't easy when the entire nation of Panem wants you destroyed." His voice had an air in it that if Finnick dared prod any further, he would pay for it severely.

"But… Dad, why do they let it happen?" Galen grabbed up a fish that was swimming by with his bare hand, that was how his father taught him how to do it, catch with your fingertips, and they can never get away. "I mean… They're…"

"Some things, boy, are best kept to themselves." And that was it. Finnick recognized this automatically as the queue to be quiet. He sighed and sat down into the bottom of the boat and rowed effortlessly back to shore where his mother was waiting.

It was how it always went when he questioned his father, or any member of his paternal family, about the Games. They always would praise it and give him a glare if he even tried to put blame against it. His grandfather long dead, now, had slapped Finnick on the back of the head once for even thinking to insult the tradition of the Games. His mother and Stark were always too afraid to say anything to Galen about it, even if they both believed the Games were wrong.

The splash of a fish awoke Finnick from his reverie. He realized the fish was a red-spotted saber, very rare, and _very_ good when cooked over fire. He picked up the golden trident that rest at his feet, a smile working its way onto his face. "Gotcha, little one." Finnick quietly stated as he stabbed through the fat, thick meat of the red body, which thrashed around on the end of the golden points of the trident. He pulled the fish off of the points with a tug, and threw it into the white bucket with his other assortment of fish and sea creatures.

Once Finnick had collected his weapons and organized them as he liked, he picked up his oars and set to rowing swiftly across the blue bay. At fourteen, he was already stronger than half the men on his shipping crew. He was tall and appeared to already be growing taller, as his mother was constantly telling him-"If you grow any taller, you're going to break through _my_ ceiling!"-and Stark was _always_ agreeing with her. He could picture Stark now, standing behind May while she told Finnick to stop growing. His smug grin and his gleaming green eyes twinkling like stars within them, making faces at him behind their mother's short and petite frame. It made Finnick laugh, despite his brother's antics; Stark always kept everyone in the family smiling.

By the time Finnick reached the docks near the small bait shop, which were surrounded by the colossal marble palaces of richer citizens of 4; it was nearly noon, telling by the sun's highest peak over the ocean, its golden rays casting powerfully over the massive marble aqueducts that bordered the district's boundary lines. The idea had been proposed when the new district had been built, the Capitol had nearly destroyed everything in the Rebellion, and it seemed like the perfect idea. Aqueducts were old and ancient designs dating back to thousands of years to the Romans, a barbaric group of people who had seemingly shaped the face of humanity, they built the aqueducts to transport clean and fresh water to the bath houses, villas, and local shops. They were the world's first inventors, making magnificent things seemingly out of nothing. The function and shape of the aqueducts was kept, but their design had certainly changed. Now they could transport 900 gallons of water, from the ocean, purified and fresh from the sea, in less than a minute. It was impressive and made jobs for almost a fourth of 4's population.

Finnick grabbed the edge of the steel dock, pulling himself onto the hard surface, and then bending over to tie his boat to the post. The tiny rowboat looked almost sad at its owner's disappearance. He reached out and with a grunt of effort, grabbed both of the full white buckets that must have weighed slightly over fifty pounds and began walking up the steel platform to the bait shop. Finnick knew old Sardine would have a good deal for him. He looked up to the towering marble Justice Building that shadowed over the bait shop, making it look small and insignificant. From this angle, he could see already people were meandering towards the square, where the Justice Building resided. He knew he would have to hurry, Sardine would be closing up shop soon enough. After all, the reaping was a big deal to many of 4's civilians.

Every year, there were flamboyant and bright parties on the night before reaping day. Children's names, younger than Finnick, even, would be placed in the betting chambers. Betting chambers were usually held in the basements of the vast marble palaces that surrounded the borders of the district. The rich, adoring their Hunger Games, would allow for the betting and live broadcast of the Games to go live on their large holographic screens. Men would scream names at random, and every year, most of them would be wrong. It would only appear once on a blue moon, that the men would actually be right about a name being pulled for the reaping. They usually betted on some of the wealthier children of District 4 like Finnick's family. The Odairs had gotten off well; the winnings of every dead victor went to the descendants of him or her. That's why Finnick and Stark were constantly having bets placed onto them, and it happened _every_ year.

When Finnick reached the bait shop doors, the sensory glass slid open at his proximity, and the young boy stepped through. The scent of fresh fish guts and salt entered Finnick's nostrils. He smiled as he heard old Sardine yelling at his wife, probably just as old as he was, about how he couldn't stand the goddamn smell of her perfume and why did she has to be so scrutinizin' of him and that if he ever had the chance to send to her to one them mad houses he would. "And if you ever try to escape, I'll get that goddamn trident out and cook you myself!" Sardine was still screaming at her, when Finnick laughed and called to him.

Sardine came out from the sheeted door and smiled at Finnick with a smile. "Aye, Odair, got somethin' good for me?" He looked greedily into the pales Finnick held up; the old man usually relied on Finnick to bring in the best sea food. This was the usual routine: Finnick bringing Sardine fresh fish, Sardine giving less than what the buckets were actually worth, and the old man sharing the latest gossip with the young boy, while he sorted through the buckets. It wasn't the money that actually mattered to Finnick, but he did enjoy Sardine's comments about the Capitol. The old man had a way of humoring him, and he couldn't help but laugh.

At Finnick's discretion that a few of the crabs hadn't been killed yet, Sardine began to pick through the buckets of fish, clams, and other various sea creatures. "So, _Mr_. Odair, you hear about the bid they be placin' on your brother's pretty head for this year's reapin'?" He asked with a tobacco stained smirk, his mouth being nearly toothless from a lifetime of smoking.

Finnick had heard, yes, but he hadn't truly paid much attention to it. There was always an Odair thrown into the mix for reaping, whether that be one of his cousins or himself. "Actually, Sardine, I did. But I think it's pointless to keep trying to keep placing bets on us, Grandpa was a Victor, they're not going to throw one of us back into the arena. It'd be rigged."

"Well, that's just what the boys down at the docks been sayin', lad. They'd throw one of you back into the arena if they could play with ya', a bit, seein' as your old man was a Victor." Sardine picked up the sun bellied bass, eyeing it with a satisfied smile and tossed it into the sink nearby. It was true, what old Sardine said. They had thrown tributes who had been children of Victors; supposedly it was entertaining to many Capitol citizens. It had even happened in 4, once or twice.

"What do you mean play with us?" Finnick inquired, leaning on the glass counter, feeling the cold air rising up to meet him.

"They want a good show, Finnick, my boy, it's all them Gamemakers want. Your grandpappy's Games were a show to be remembered, if they can throw one of you Odairs into that arena and have a little fun down memory lane, they'll have one happy crowd on their greasy little hands." Finnick didn't think his grandfather's Games should be renowned, like Sardine was suggesting. They were dirty and bloody, and there was nothing much else to say about them. Finnick's father wasn't born yet and the earlier Games were gory and usually lasted only days, because of the Gamemakers resentment towards the tributes.

"Maybe, old man, but the name Odair has been known too long… They don't want to have another Victor with my last name." Finnick said with a pensive expression on his face.

"How do you know, lad, that if Stark was reaped he'd be Victor?" It was a frightening thought to pass over Finnick; therefore, he didn't let it go any further than that.

"Stark's not going to be chosen, old man. Keep the goods for free, Sardine. I don't need it." He said with a wry smile, as he waved to him.

"Yessir, you best be gettin' home, Finnick. It's nearly reapin' time."


End file.
